A beautiful woman carrying an empty gas can is kind of sexy, especially if she looks sad. I ran into one while stretching out in he park, a babe near tears. Naturally I stepped in with comforting words, gently leading her out of the park to a line of similar souls holding their cans near a station.. The line moved slowly and we related our life stories. I was a mime and she was a ventriloquist. Work was slow during and after the hurricane. We were bonding however, when a car tried to cut in the vehicle line. I jumped into action, getting the plate number, while others kicked and pounded on the vehicle.
I looked inside and was stunned to see my grandmother behind the wheel. I fought back instinct to protect her and let the others continue to pound away until the window rolled down and several shots rang out scattering the crowd. It slipped my mind that granny never left the house without a weapon. Cheryl, the woman I met, was hiding behind a tree and ducked as Granny drove off in a huff. She evidently thought seniors got priority.
Many were shook up, no one hurt, except we lost our place in line and Cheryl started crying. So I told her to go home, I'd take her place holding the gas can and after getting the precious fuel, I'd call her & meet for coffee. In this way I got her number, except later her huge brother Lenny showed instead for the gas, thanking me as he handed over a twenty. Keep the change, he said.
Damn you, granny.
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